


New Life

by fardareismai2



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-12
Updated: 2009-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5279012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai2/pseuds/fardareismai2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a post DAG fic. It contains spoilers, so if you haven't read book 9, stay away. Takes place about a week after the events in DAG. Sookie reevaluates her life and relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Reading Dead and Gone has spurred me on a writing frenzy. What can I say? I've been inspired, reinvigorated . . . possessed? LOL! I hadn't planned on writing this just yet, but it sort of started writing itself in my head while I was doing laundry so I just had to get it out.
> 
> A big, HUGE, thank you to my beta's; Gallathea and Kristin. My stories wouldn't be the same without you guys.
> 
> As always, thanks to my friends over on the TB Wiki, and the Sookieverse. You guys rock my world, and to those writers there, thanks for making me strive to do better. Thanks to all those who have left me reviews on my previous fics, or put me on alert. You make me feel the love!

I looked around my house, so different now from the one I grew up in. I had to move, and it wasn't just because I could now. No, it was because I could not bear to live there anymore. I could not bear the memories or the ghosts of those I loved, and I certainly couldn't bear the ghost of who I once was.

About a week after the end of the fairy civil war, I was home resting and healing. Physically I was healed. His blood had seen to that. Mentally? I was mourning the deaths of both a family member and a friend, and trying to help Amelia with the funeral arrangements. More so, however, I was mourning the final loss of my innocence.

The physical scars of what Lochlan and Neave inflicted upon me were minor compared to the psychological ones. Despite everything I'd been through before—I'd been beaten, staked, raped, and nearly drained—I had maintained my sense of self. I had kept the core of my being, my optimism and faith in others. I could no longer do that. Everything else that had ever happened to me had happened for a reason. The reasons may have been shitty, but there were reasons.

I was beaten by the Rats because I had beaten them. I was staked because I stepped in to defend a vampire. I was drained and raped because someone had tortured my ex-boyfriend to within an inch of his sanity, and then I was trapped with him. All of these things made sense. At least they made sense within the confines of the crazy, supernatural world in which I reside.

Lochlan and Neave? Their actions existed outside all reason. What they did to me, they did purely for sadistic pleasure. They even told me so, after describing "the fun" they had with Crystal when they found her in Jason's truck, saying, "Now we're going to have some fun with you." Fun. They  _ate_  parts of my flesh, and then had sex while covered with my blood. They did not torture me for information. They did not even do it because Breandan ordered it, although he allowed it. They did it because it  _pleased_  them. It was something I could not wrap my head around.

It was the nail in the coffin of my naïveté.

I sat on the porch, drinking my coffee and watching the sun rise. I was still unable to sleep through the night. I thought of my great-grandfather's parting words. "The vampire is not a bad man, and he loves you."

At the time, I was unsure if he meant Bill, or Eric. Later, it occurred to me that everyone, including me, already knew Bill loved me. Niall's statement was unnecessary, and he was never one to waste words, even if they were at times cryptic.

I thought about that night together, the night Bill and Quinn fought. I closed my eyes and felt the quiet hum of his existence, nestled in my head . . . in my heart. I thought about everything he said, everything he did, and realized that he loved me. Yet, I had pushed him away, refusing to listen.

Then in the hospital, I lashed out at him. Angry that he didn't come when I needed him. Angry, frankly, that it was Bill, and not him, that came for me. I needed only to hear his reply to understand the depth of pain I caused him with my vicious words. "You're killing me. You're killing me."

I stifled a small sob as I remembered it. Did Gran think that when Rene took her life? Did she think I'd failed her? Did she wonder why I was not home? The thought brought a fresh set of tears to my eyes.

"The vampire is not a bad man, and he loves you." Niall's parting words made sense. I needed to give him a chance. He said he would explain, and that I would understand. Although as I now think back on that moment, I'm not sure if he was trying to convince me, or himself.

Either way, I was going to listen. I would try to understand, because I loved him and he loved me. I had been so careful about what I said to him that night, because I was scared, and overwhelmed, and confused by the feelings that flowed into me from the bond. He wanted to talk. He wanted to tell me how he felt, and I avoided the conversation. I was a fool. Now, I had to try to make it work. Niall wouldn't have wasted his breath otherwise. He wanted me to be happy.

As I set down my coffee cup and stood, I felt it. He was gone. Just like that. One minute he was here, the next he was gone, and I sat down hard. Once more the tears flowed as I mourned yet another loss. How could the hole in my heart be so big, when he had only resided there such a short time?

When I was finally able to, I rose and went inside. There was no one to call, and no one to share this grief with. I was alone in it. I went into the kitchen and washed my coffee mug, then sat at the table. I fell asleep with my head on the table, and was woken by the sound of a car in my driveway. I walked to the door and felt the unusual buzz of a familiar supernatural brain.

It was Mr. Cataliades, the demon lawyer and, dare I say, my friend? At least insomuch as demons have friends.

I invited him in, and that's when he told me his news. He'd been instructed to find me if it ever happened, as soon as it happened. I suppose he was notified magically, but I didn't ask. What did it matter? Gone was gone.

He had left me everything: all his holdings, his cash, his businesses, everything. I was stunned. I thought I had used up all my tears, but I found a fresh supply. These instructions had been made out long ago. He was ensuring that I was cared for, knowing that I would never accept help while he was in my life, but also knowing that I could not refuse him once he was gone.

I stared at the papers as I tried to take in everything Mr. Cataliades told me. I was now beyond well off. I would never have to work another day in my life if I chose not to. My mind reeled.

When the lawyer left, with instructions to call him in order to finalize all the transfers, I sat heavily on the sofa. I was exhausted, and I lay down, pulling Gran's old afghan over me. I smelled it, trying to find a trace of his scent, but it had been too long. I fell asleep while the tears still flowed.

When I woke, I felt a cool hand brushing the hair from my face, and tracing the trails of my dried tears. I looked up at him, and croaked, "Niall's gone. The portal is closed." In all the confusion, drama, and horror of that last day, I didn't connect the kiss my great-grandfather gave me with the continuing sense of well being I experienced as I healed. I had attributed it to the vampire blood coursing through my veins, but clearly he had forged a connection to me. It was magical, and healing, and ended as soon as our worlds were shut off from each other.

He already knew. Niall had come to him a final time. He never told me what they spoke about, and I never asked.

It was time for me to listen, and to understand, and to forgive. It was time for me to embrace a new life; a life born of innocence lost, and forged in pain, and yet one that still held hope, and love, and possibilities.

I took his large hand in mine, and looked into his blue eyes, seeing his love for me reflected there. I took a deep breath, and spoke.

"It's time we had that talk."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story began as a one-shot, but so many of you were saying you couldn't wait to find out what happened next, that I realized I had the makings of a larger story here. Thank you to all of you who read my stories, who leave me reviews, and who put me (or my stories) on alert. You make a girl feel good.
> 
> Once again I have to thank my fantastic betas, Kristin and Gallathea. You two rock my socks. If there are any mistakes in here, they are still mine 'cause I'm a tool sometimes.

I woke from my daytime slumber, and I could feel such unhappiness flow through the bond. The hum of our connection was muted now, at least on one side, but her sorrow still pulsed across to me in waves. I knew what a difficult week she'd had. I tried to come to her, but I had to be in Las Vegas to explain the events and outcomes of the fairy war, as well as discuss new strategies regarding the fallout with Felipe.

I did come to her the night of the funeral for the Were. I came not only for her, but to honor him. He was a brave man, who died fighting, managing to give Sookie an edge and save her life. It is not often that I am impressed by the two-natured, but Tray Dawson earned my respect, and my eternal thanks, for saving Sookie's life. I would make sure his woman was always protected.

We did not speak much that night, as the house was full of mourners, and Sookie was busy playing hostess, and comforting Amelia. When everyone left, Sookie began to clean. I knew that this was some sort of cathartic ritual for her, but she needed rest. I took her hands and pulled her from the sink. For a wonder, she did not argue. Without a word, I picked her up, carried her to her room and tucked her into bed. She was asleep in seconds.

All week I had been feeling her grief, her heartache, and her horror. I could tell she was having trouble sleeping. She must have been having nightmares, because as I sat in my office, I would suddenly get a jolt of terror from her so palpable, that I would be halfway to my car before I realized it was subsiding.

It was breaking my heart to see and feel her like this. She seemed broken, and I wondered if my earlier assessment and praise of her had been wrong. Yet I knew her. I knew her strength. I could feel it flow through me, through the bond, through my veins, and I knew she could get through this.

I still had not spoken to her of what I had done, of why I could not come to her that day. I still hoped she would forgive me and understand. She had to. I did it for us. The rest of it . . . well, I wasn't sure how I was going to explain that. I hardly understood it myself. For now, I would say nothing. What could be gained?

Today, however, was different. Her grief and unhappiness felt . . . fresh and raw, different from the way it had felt the rest of that week. I was sure I knew the cause, but the pain was real nonetheless, and it woke me early from my slumber. For the first time in a thousand years, I resented that I could not withstand sunlight. It kept me from her, just when I swore to myself nothing would again.

When I arrived, the house was dark. I could sense her, smell her, and hear her breathing. I found her curled up on the couch, under that hideous afghan, with her nose buried in it. The tracks of her dried tears were apparent on her face, and she looked so fragile lying there, I was almost afraid to touch her.

I watched her for a few minutes, just watched the rise and fall of her breasts as she slept. She turned and a leg peeked out from under the afghan. Anger raged through me once again as I saw the still healing scars that marred the beautiful landscape of her flesh.

My hands involuntarily reached out to trace the scars, each one burning itself into my memory, each one a vivid reminder of my failure. Never again, my love. Never again. She moaned in her sleep. It was nearly a cry, and her grief slammed into me. I brushed her hair from her face, and my fingers traced the trails of her tears.

She opened her eyes, looked up at me, and whispered, "Niall's gone. The portal is closed."

"I know," I replied. Niall had come to me a few days before, and we had spoken of a great many things. I told her he had spoken to me, but she did not press me for specifics, and I did not offer any. Instead, she looked at me; her eyes reflected pain, but also love and hope. She reached out her hand, and took mine. She took a deep breath and said, "It's time we had that talk."

"Sookie," I began, but she placed her finger on my lips.

"Me first." She looked at me, and I nodded. Then she proceeded to tell me everything. She told me how she was afraid to face me, us, her feelings the last time we were together. She told me that she never should have let me leave without telling me how she felt.

Her eyes never left mine as she spoke, and as she continued, they filled with tears. One spilled over, and I wiped it away, resisting the urge to lick my finger after. All I wanted to do was to gather her in my arms, and to make her feel safe and whole, but I had to let her get through it. I had to let her come to this on her terms.

She told me that when Neave and Lochlan had her, she thought of her friends and loved ones, even praying to see the shifter's face, but that I was the only one she begged for in her mind. Her words seared me.

She apologized for her cruel words at the hospital, saying that I was the only one who saved her time and again, and that she knew I would have moved mountains to be with her if I could. I had moved mountains, only they weren't the ones she expected. I hoped she would still be so forgiving when I explained. Then she went on to tell me of her great-grandfather's parting words, and the revelation she'd had, but more important was what she said afterward.

"I'm done hiding Eric. I'm done denying my feelings. I'm done pretending there is anything better out there. How could there be?" She took a deep breath, squeezed my hand and said, "I love you Eric, and I am yours if you will still have me."

Mine. I love you Eric, and I am yours . . . The words I had longed to hear for so long and now I feared she would snatch them back. For now, I would take it. I would take whatever she was willing to give me, for however long she was willing to give it. Our time was finite anyway.

I pulled her to me, gathering her in my arms. Her head was tucked into my chest, and her small arms wrapped around me, squeezing me as hard as she could. My nose went into her hair, inhaling her scent, that uniquely, tantalizing scent that was just her. It was stronger that night.

"My lover, you have no idea how happy you have made me." I lifted her chin, and looked deep into her eyes. "I told you then that I will always be honest with you. You didn't want to know how I felt, but it is time you did. I love you. I am what I am. I am Vampire. I am over a thousand years old. I am a sheriff, with all the politics that entails, and yet, all I have, all I am, is yours."

Her arms reached up, and wound themselves around my neck as I bent to her, capturing her lips with mine. I stood and carried her to her room. I laid her on the bed, breaking from our kisses only to make sure she was okay, that this wasn't too soon after Neave and Lochlan and all her grief.

I didn't even need to ask. Her eyes burned with desire, and she growled lightly, pulling me back to her. My hands roamed her body, inflaming her with every touch. Our clothes fell by the bed, some in shreds, as we desperately sought to touch each other, feel the smooth glide of skin on skin. My lips skimmed her neck, nipping at the spot behind her ear that always drove her wild. I trailed my tongue over her collar bone, and continued down until I reached her breasts. I ran my tongue around her nipples, teasing and blowing cold air across them, until she was whimpering, before I took one into my mouth. My hand cupped the other breast, toying with its nipple, as I rolled and pinched it between my fingers.

Her cries were going straight to my cock, and I rubbed my length along her thigh. I felt her shift, trying to reach it, but I grabbed her hands with one of mine and pinned them above her head. I wasn't done with her yet.

After giving her other breast equal attention, my mouth made its way down her stomach, my tongue dipping into her navel, then trailing to the top of her soft curls. My other hand stroked the inside of her thigh, evoking another series of moans and whimpers. I trailed my fingers up, tracing the outside of her lips. Her hips bucked, seeking more, but I continued to tease her, drawing out her pleasure. Finally, when she was begging, pleading with me, I stroked her wetness as I slid two fingers into her.

Her cries of pleasure nearly brought me to climax. I released her hands, and settled down between her legs, my fingers opening her to me, as I lowered my mouth to her.

"Fuck," I whispered. "You taste so good." My words brought her over the edge, and as I drank her in, she seemed even sweeter than ever.

It took everything I had not to just drive into her, claim her as mine, but I knew she needed more that night, more than a quick fuck. She needed to be made love to, and I intended to control my nature. I continued to lick, and nip, and suck until she was pleading for me to stop, her hips bucking wildly, and her legs shaking.

I crawled up her body, and pushed into her. She was so hot, and wet, and tight. Her muscles clenched around my length, and I had to stop and allow myself to adjust to the sensation. Then we began to move, deep and slow, my hips angling at each thrust to make sure I hit her sweet spot.

She looked at me and said, "You were right. This is perfect. This is best." Then, she arched her back as another orgasm tore through her. Her face was shining with sweat, and her eyes were slightly glazed as she looked into mine. She turned her head and presented her neck to me.

I leaned over, licked along the artery that pulsed there, and whispered, "My lover," then I sank my fangs into her. Fuck me. The sweetness that flooded into my mouth was beyond reason, and I felt my judgment clouding. My bloodlust clawed itself to the surface, and I drew deeply. As soon as I tore myself from her, I flipped her onto her knees, and slammed into her from behind. I claimed her as certainly as any beast ever claimed a mate, and as I felt my climax start, I bent over and marked her again, biting her shoulder and drinking deeply again. I felt her muscles contract around my cock, as she came again, and I shot into her, howling like an animal.

We collapsed onto the bed, and when I came to my senses, I began to frantically check her, making sure she was okay. She mumbled sleepily about being pillaged by her Viking, and then drifted off.

I had not lost control like that in a few hundred years. Not since the last time I caught a fairy, and I realized that Niall's parting kiss had imparted much more than just a healing connection.

Fucking fairies.


End file.
